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The poetry of the earth is never dead.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Earth
Gardening
Never
Garden
Life
Poetry
Dead
Environment
Natural
Inspirational
Nature

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I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.
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Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
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Call the world if you please the vale of soul-making. Then you will find out the use of the world.
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I find I cannot exist without Poetry
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Knowledge enormous makes a god of me.
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I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion-- I have shuddered at it, I shudder no more. I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.
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How sad it is when a luxurious imagination is obliged in self defense to deaden its delicacy in vulgarity, and riot in things attainable that it may not have leisure to go mad after things that are not.
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Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.
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one of the most mysterious of semi-speculations is, one would suppose, that of one Mind's imagining into another
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I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart’s affections and the truth of the Imagination – What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth – whether it existed before or not – for I have the same Idea of all our Passions as of Love they are all in their sublime, creative of essential Beauty . . .
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it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.
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O for the gentleness of old Romance, the simple planning of a minstrel's song!
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Load every rift with ore.
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--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
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A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
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I came to feel how far above All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood, All earthly pleasure, all imagined good, Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss.
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A poet without love were a physical and metaphysical impossibility.
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Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by? ---On death
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Feeling well that breathed words Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps Of grasshoppers against the sun.
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But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!
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